


Stiles....Has Issues

by Obsessivecompulsivereadr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsessivecompulsivereadr/pseuds/Obsessivecompulsivereadr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing Stiles Stilinski was good at, besides running his mouth in dangerous situations and pissing people off, it was research.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles....Has Issues

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing for Teen Wolf, and this is just my attempt to get into Stiles's head and understand him a little bit better. No pairings identified. It's more of Stiles beginning to understand something about himself.

If there was one thing that Stiles Stilinski was good at, besides running his mouth in dangerous situations and pissing people off, it was research. 

Research was like the holy land to Stiles. 

Research was one place where his ADD flourished instead of holding him back.  His mind worked almost like a search engine, piling page upon page of new information in front of him, expecting him to focus just long enough to find the _one important thing_ , before his focus switched to the next fact.

Just like on the internet, where one click on a new link led to another new link, which led to another new link.  Or when he was pulling out the dusty old books from the library, one page led to another page, which had a really cool drawing of something he could focus on for a few seconds before BAM.

The next  _one important thing_. 

Really?  Stiles could do some fucking research.

When his best friend, Scott McCall, had been engaging in some not so appropriate and rather terrifying behavior, research was really the only thing that had kept Scott alive at times. Because for all the good changing into a werewolf did Scott, it hadn’t actually improved his ability to reason.  Or his decision making.  Or end his tendency to whine.

It pretty much just got him into even more trouble, because Scott hadn’t wanted to  _learn_.  He’d only wanted to fight it.  And he’d wanted answers that he’d expected Stiles to find for him.

Not that Scott appreciated all of Stiles’s research.  Or _any_ of it, actually.

But Stiles had done it, simply because Scott was his best friend.  Stiles had looked up nearly everything he could find on werewolves, in webpage form, book form, and in the real life form when the extremely intimidating Derek Hale could be bothered to stop throwing Stiles into walls and growling at him in irritation.

It didn’t happen  _all_  the time, the getting thrown into walls thing.

But still, Stiles was  _very often_  not so gently pressed against the walls, but not  _daily_.  Three times a week would be a good guess though. 

Because Stiles was talented. 

Mostly at the pissing people off thing.  And at running his mouth in dangerous situations.  And honestly, those two things happened around Derek Hale more than three times a week, so Stiles figured his “ _back hitting the wall_ ” average was lower than what it _could_ be.

If Derek wanted to make it more frequent, Stiles had certainly given him reason.  Many times.

But really, Derek should be able to overlook the running his mouth thing, and the pissing people off thing, because honestly, nobody in the pack was as good as Stiles at research.  And his love of it, his need to learn everything there was to know about a subject, was something that the entire pack should appreciate. 

Because it had saved their asses a time or two.

He leaned back in his desk chair and grinned at the papers he’d printed out.  He brushed his palm over the top of his head and chewed on the end of a pencil as he took in the paragraphs of overly stimulating reading material in front of him.

Yeah, he was damned good at research. 

He just wasn’t sure how that search engine brain of his, scattered and random as it could be, combined with power of Google had led what had started out as more research on wolf pack dynamics into pages of information on sexuality.

As in pages upon pages of information on heterosexuality, homosexuality, and bisexuality.

Stiles continued to chew on the end of his pencil a few more moments before throwing it down on the desk.  Because he believed he’d found the _one important thing_ he’d been looking for.

Not just for the past few hours, but for the  _past few years_.

It was just satisfying when research paid off.  He leaned back and scratched his stomach idly before taking a drink of the soda sitting nearby.  He really didn’t need the caffeine, but the Adderall he’d taken wasn’t really doing the focusing thing much good.  

The more stimulants the better, in his opinion.  In fact,  _bring on the stimulants_ , should be his new motto.

Which of course, was the exact opposite opinion everybody else in his werewolf filled world had regarding the combination of the words  _Stiles_  and  _stimulants_. 

A few months back, Scott had developed the idea that  _depressants_  and  _Stiles_  could have had a fulfilling relationship, until he’d figured out that a drunk Stiles was a chatty Stiles, and then Scott had lost all hope of finding a substance in the world that could make Stiles shut up. 

That night had been amusing because the sight of Scott coming to that realization, that there really was nothing on the planet that could affect Stiles enough to shut his mouth, had been priceless. 

Scott had become almost depressed himself.

Stiles took another quick sip of his blessed liquid stimulant, and he placed the can down on the desk. 

He picked up the section he’d just caught a glimpse of, the one that had been the catalyst for this particular article being printed, and he stared at it for a few long moments. 

This subject was interesting.

Stiles flipped through a few more pages, to gather the ones he wanted that were just about this  _one important thing_ , before carrying them over to the bed. 

“Pansexuality,” Stiles tried out the word but it sounded really foreign in his ears. 

He’d never really heard or seen the word before, but he liked what he’d seen about it so far.  Depending on which article he’d chosen to consider, pansexuality was described a few different ways.  Wikipedia, as unreliable as it could be, had a very basic definition that had been a good basis on which to start.

He'd never really put much faith into Wikipedia articles, but he wasn’t going to go defining his sexual orientation by the site anyway, so it wasn’t going to  _hurt_  that he’d started there.  And anything that Wikipedia had gotten wrong, he could fill in with other sources.  

Because that was how he studied everything.  He never trusted only one source.

Stiles flipped through the information, his wolf pack dynamics research on the backburner for now, and really concentrated. 

Like concentrated more than he ever had in his life.

Because  _this?_

This was the be-all and end-all  _one important thing_  for him right now. 

He’d been having this sexuality identity crisis for way too long for his comfort. 

It had really kind of taken him by surprise because for just about all his life there had been Lydia Martin, the girl he’d sworn in third grade he’d marry once they turned eighteen.  She was always there, in his head, in his life, and sometimes it felt like she would always be there.

And that was a little depressing, because she just really was not  _in_  to him, and no amount of wishing was ever going to make her be.

But despite his ever present love of Lydia, there were other things pulling him towards other people.  Drawing him to them, whether he wanted to be drawn or not.

In fact, it seemed like the harder he tried to not be drawn in, the more the person pulled at him.

Or persons actually. 

As in more than one person making his life miserable just by existing, but existing on this plane of “ _no touching allowed Stiles_ ”. 

And  _that_  was more than a little depressing.

Okay, here it was.  The part he’d printed this article out for.

_Pansexuality could almost be described as a form of bisexuality in that gender is not important in the list of defining factors one uses to identify attraction.  Pansexuals do not seem to see the gender itself, but use a set of characteristics, personality, or defining behaviors that they find attractive in a person.  Pansexuals identify themselves as being attracted to people, or perhaps specific personality types._

_Some may have found themselves initially attracted to one particular gender, for example, a male being initially only attracted to females.  But upon meeting someone of the other gender than the one initially preferred, someone whose personality is one that is attractive to them, this could change the perception of their sexual preference, perhaps causing a so-called ‘sexual identity crisis’ where a crisis might not actually exist.  It could simply mean that the person has always identified as pansexual, and he or she had, up until that point in his or her life, never met a person with those particular characteristics in the gender he or she was not initially attracted to, i.e. a male who was initially attracted to females meeting a male who has the characteristics that the pansexual finds attractive in a person._

_There may never be one uniformly accepted definition of the concept, and many struggle to understand it because there is no focus on either/or versus both genders.  And of even further contention is the claim that pansexuality does not exist, and that it is simply a function of bisexuality and a person who is more comfortable with all things regarding both sex and sexuality_

Stiles put down the papers in front of him and sat up in the bed.  It was an interesting definition, and it was more explanatory than most of the information he’d come across.

And unfortunately, it sounded a lot like him.  Well not unfortunately.  But also not fortunately, either, actually, because of the reasons for this new self-awareness.

Stiles got off the bed and walked over to the bedroom window, biting at the end of his thumb as he considered what he’d just read, along with everything else he’d read during the afternoon. 

He was processing the information, as he tended to do after ingesting it. 

There were times when his overly active brain was helpful to him, so he went over events over the past few years that could be more readily explained if Stiles was, in fact, pansexual. 

For example, it would explain why he’d always been convinced that he was heterosexual because of his near life-long devotion to Lydia. 

Lydia had a strong personality, even before she’d been attacked.  She was beautiful, and bossy, and at times, bitchy.  But he had adored her for years, and he’d always had this pull towards her.  She could sigh at his antics, her voice dripping with disdain when she’d insult him, and he would just go back for more, without hesitation.  And the night of the dance had been a dream come true for him, even if she’d never intended to ever give him the time of day again.

And as much as he’d like to deny it, there was still something about her that drew him to her.  The bitchiness was improving, but he’d never be her ‘type’ and a part of him understood that.

Accepted it. 

When Stiles’s phone vibrated, he pulled it out to read the message from Scott.  His best friend was heading to the pack meeting, but he was canceling their plans for after the meeting.  Scott was going to meet up with his girlfriend, Allison Argent, instead.  

And right now, Stiles didn’t even have it in him to be upset about it.  He needed fewer distractions at the moment.  So he could get this worked out before he went to the next meeting.

He ran downstairs to fix a sandwich, and he added ingredients that Scott and Jackson would turn their noses up at.  One would think, with the two of them having shapeshifting abilities and the urge to kill, as well as a whole eating raw meat thing, they’d be less likely to scorn Stiles for having  _unusual_ taste in food.

But no.  That wasn’t happening.

Especially from Jackson. 

Jackson, Stiles considered as he chewed a bite of his sandwich, had issues, and that was a polite way of putting it.  

The guy was a douchebag most of the time, and he had baggage because he was adopted, and he had insecurity that had led to him asking for the bite, something Scott considered a curse rather than a gift.

Jackson was also, very pretty.

He was as irritating as shit, and he took great pleasure in harassing and torturing Stiles.  Jackson was very athletic, and his lacrosse skills were annoyingly good. And he was as asshole most of the time, to nearly everybody he’d ever met.

But again,  _very_  pretty.

And it  _really_  pissed Stiles off that he’d noticed how pretty.

He’d noticed it a long time ago, which had led to the initial sexual identity crisis that may not actually be one, if he took that research into consideration. 

Because Jackson had been the one to make him wonder about Lydia, and it wasn’t even that he had any intention of pursuing anything with Jackson. 

For one, the guy was currently a rather dangerous lizard type abomination that tended to kill at leisure. 

And two, Jackson was still a douchebag, even in human form. 

Sure, maybe he was someone who just needed a hug, but when he had claws that could inject a paralysis inducing toxin into the back of a person’s neck, it tended to make that person want to avoid hugging such a creature. 

Well, at least it made  _Stiles_  hesitant to hug him. 

Maybe Scott could, since he had the whole werewolf healing ability. 

Stiles shook his head to rid himself of  _that_  image.

No, that’s all he needed.  He’d already spent two hours of his life trying to keep one werewolf from succumbing to drowning thanks to Jackson.  He didn’t need to spend two hours in a pool with Scott.

Stiles would end up killing him. 

Stiles would end up holding his head under the water, he could see it now, simply because Scott would spend the entire time lamenting about how he’d never get unparalyzed in time to have sex with Allison again.  And really, Stiles avoided those conversations whenever possible.

Stiles shook his head again, to get this  _new_  image out of his head, and he went back to considering Jackson.

So, okay, Lydia and Jackson were similar, strong and borderline verbally and physically violent people.

 _Check_.  

Now, moving on.

Stiles stretched his neck back and forth and popped his shoulders. 

They still hurt from the last little ‘ _Here Stiles, you need to stand here because you’re irritating the shit out of me_ ’ wall slam.  It was supposed to have been to get him out of the way, because apparently Stiles had been standing too close to the fight.  At least that’s what he’d been told. 

At least he was being given  _reasons_  for his beat-downs now.  Could that even be called progress? 

Stiles took a sip of his soda after he swallowed the last of his sandwich.

Progress or not, it had still hurt. And it probably hurt more than just getting into the fight would have hurt.

Maybe.  It depended on who was the one coming after him, he guessed.

But  _whatever_ , it’s not like he hadn’t had this kind of soreness before. 

Back to Erica.

Erica was a new factor in all this, because her personality had taken such a drastic change since she was bitten.  Before, when she’d suffered from bullying and from her seizures, she’d been a quiet girl. And if he chose to believe her right now, a quiet girl who’d been crushing on him. 

He wasn’t sure if he could believe her, and since he couldn’t detect lies thanks to annoyingly accurate wolf senses, he had no choice but to assume she was telling the truth until he’d caught her in a lie.  So for research purposes, he would assume she was being truthful for now.

Erica, if she was being honest about how she felt, was  _his_  Stiles. 

He was  _her_  Lydia, and he knew how much Lydia ignoring him had hurt him all these years.  He’d had eyes for nobody but Lydia, and the knowledge that a girl had felt that way about  _him_  had been intriguing. 

Frightening too, because now she had the power to make him pay for ignoring her all these years.  And apparently, she’d already started doing just that.

And to be honest, this personality, the new one that seemed to want to beat on him all the time, was kind of intoxicating.  When she’d backed him towards the door, and she’d worn that outfit, and those _eyes_ had been on him, and she’d been so _dominant_ with him, he’d been turned on.

Right before she’d hit him with a carburetor. 

Sigh.  Another violent person in his life.

And apparently, if his trend continued, the more aggressive she got, the more turned on Stiles would get.  It seemed that the quickest way to Stiles’s heart, or to give him a boner, was to be verbally or physically mean to him.

 _Great_ . 

That was such  _excellent_  news. 

Stiles finished throwing out the rest of his leftover lunch and brushed the crumbs off his hands.  He grabbed another source of caffeine out of the fridge and headed back up to his room.

He was going to avoid all the members of the pack until he got this shit figured out for himself. 

 _Especially Derek Hale_. 

Stiles sighed as he ascended the stairs to his room.  If there was anybody in his life who embodied the idea of aggression and hostility and barely acknowledged tolerance of Stiles, it would be the Alpha werewolf.

Which of course, given what Stiles was now considering about his personality, made the attraction to him make a lot more sense. 

Stiles liked dominant and aggressive people, and Derek could rip his throat out with his pointy teeth.  And probably would at a moment's notice.

It was a match made in heaven. 

Stiles really needed to reintroduce himself to the character of Jack Harkness from Torchwood.  He remembered some things about the character, and some of the research he’d found identified that character as an openly pansexual or “ _omnisexual_ ” character.  He’d remembered him vaguely from Doctor Who, but it had been a while since he’d watched Torchwood.

But he did remember that Jack tended to be attracted to any species.  Not just any gender.  Well, pretty much anything with a pulse really.

And Stiles would just have to face facts.  If a space alien landed and decided to start throwing Stiles around and slamming him up against the nearest flat surfaces as a means of interspecies communication, he’d probably end up with a boner over it.

Because, apparently, that was his  _thing_.  He seemed to have a pain fetish.

Stiles couldn’t even have a cool job like Jack though.  No, he had to be the 147 pounds of sarcastic research-loving human _omega_ in a pack full of werewolves.  Werewolves who like to intimidate and push him around.  Aggressive and silent werewolves.  Sour faced and bitchy werewolves.

Werewolves who could smell arousal on him at fifty paces. 

Oh, and he couldn’t forget the aggressive and poisonous lizard type creatures who were constantly trying to kill people. 

What was his life anyway?

Did Jack Harkness have to deal with being attracted to people who could literally rip his throat out in less than five seconds?  He couldn’t remember, but he'd definitely rewatch it to figure that out.

Stiles’s phone vibrated again, and he pulled it out of his pocket to read the incoming text message.

**From Scott (11:28 am):  Derek wants to know where you are.**

**To Scott (11:29 am):  Not coming today.  Kind of busy.**

Yeah, that excuse wasn’t going to hold water for Derek, but he could usually get away with shorter answers for Scott. 

Unless Scott and Derek were here, and then Stiles’s rambling mouth would just get out of control. 

Then he’d be screwed because Sour Wolf would just glare at him, allowing him to ramble deeper and deeper into shit before Derek just finally lost his temper and slammed him into something. 

And it was a very good thing  _none_  of them were here at the moment, because it’s not like he could form an acceptable excuse when he was in a room with a bunch of living, breathing, shapeshifting formerly or partially human lie detectors. 

He’d end up spilling out what he’d been researching, and then there would be awkward moments where the werewolves in question would have lizard boy paralyze him, then they’d all question him before pulverizing him when they didn’t like his answers.

Yeah.  That was a scene he’d just rather not face.

**From Scott (11:32 am):  Dude.  Derek glared at me.**

**To Scott: (11:33 am):  And that’s different from his normal behavior in what way exactly?**

Stiles stared down at his phone, hoping that Derek wasn’t already on his way over to the Stilinski residence to skulk into his bedroom and question him in person. 

**From Scott (11:35 am):  You have a point.  Derek says to get your ass over here tomorrow after school.**

Well, Derek could just demand that all he wanted, but Stiles would go over there when he damned well pleased and not a moment earlier. 

Stiles snorted, because even his brain knew that was a lie. 

He’d end up at Derek’s rundown home right after school, as commanded by his Wolfieness, but he’d end up being smart-assed and mouthy about it.  And then he’d get hurt again.

Because really, if there was one thing Stiles excelled at, it was running his mouth in dangerous situations.  And research.

And pissing off werewolves. 


End file.
